October 2000
Week of October 2, 2000
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Peering into the empty training rink, I found the lights dimmed and workmen walking around with shovels full of slush. Usually there are several competitors practicing on the freestyle rink, including junior and senior pairs and dancers. Program music blared from the other rink where I usually skate. This did not bode well for our adult session. The front desk attendant told our group that we would have to share one surface with the competitors, due to technical problems on the other rink. The crowd already on the ice included a few single skaters (some capable of triple jumps), an advanced dance team, and a few low freestyle children.
One woman spied the dancers and sighed. “They take up the whole rink.”
The couple flowed around the perimeter in a sequence of fast deep edges that sliced from the center to within inches of the barrier leaving no place for a less proficient skater to practice. High level dancers and pairs are more intimidating than single skaters. Two people moving together generate dangerous momentum and offer a larger surface area for collision with an obstacle like me.
“I hate it when they combine the sessions,” someone else complained.
With my skates already laced on my feet, I contemplated departing for the mall rink. Last week, I endured one of these combined sessions and accomplished precious little. I did not want to waste time and money hugging the boards while the advanced skaters practiced their routines. I asked the cashier for a refund, took off my skates and drove to the mall. In the years that I have been skating, this was the first time that I had the option to leave an undesirable situation at one rink for a better session someplace else. Ordinarily, I would have had to tolerate the frustrating conditions, spinning in a corner and waiting for my two hours to be over.
At the mall I skated reasonable well with only a few other people on the ice. I landed good lutzes and am making progress with reverse direction spinning. On the advice of a coaching friend, I temporarily abandoned the reverse scratch spin in favor of the surprisingly less difficult camel.
Read more about my fear of pair and dance skaters in “Pairophobia”.
Week of October 9, 2000
Upside Down Camel Ride
My first layback occurred very much by accident several years ago. After learning an interesting variation of a forward upright spin, I began to experiment with it and found myself leaning backward.
“Nice layback!” someone called.
Layback? Who, me? I wondered unaware that I had happened upon anything of value.
A lesson with my instructor confirmed that the
Good fortune also smiled upon me with the discovery of the
The skating fairy blessed me with another visit this week. Enjoying a fast, smooth back camel resulting from a flying entrance, I decided to try something different with my arms. As my limbs found a supposedly attractive pose, I watched the lights and rafters twirl above me. In a layback, I consciously avoid looking at anything in particular and focus my attention on maintaining the spin’s center. But this was not a layback. It was a layover back camel! In spite of previous unsuccessful experimentation, this unwitting performance completely surprised me. Amidst the excitement, I lost the spin and had to step out awkwardly. Rather than investing energy in a good flying camel, I entered the spin from an inside three-turn and recaptured the layover. This move used to make me dizzy. Drawing from experience with literally thousands of laybacks, I blocked out the overhead panorama and enjoyed an upside down camel ride.
My new layover back camel may be as rough and unseasoned as my first layback, but it offers a promising starting point to develop something exceptional. Now if I could only stumble upon a double jump.
Week of October 9, 2000; Part Two
Working Without a Net
Fastening the training harness’s belt; I anticipated my two nemeses, the axel and double salchow, with determination and dread. These jumps cycle through periods of growth and demise without ever actually becoming consistent. When I think I have made irrefutable progress on the axel, the next day I
During this lesson, I made significant progress with the notorious salchow. Finally enlightened, I understood the concept of jumping after facing the direction of travel. Although Geoff has explained this countless times, I never quite internalized it. This method allows the free leg to pass across the body rather than swinging around. The legs stay together creating a compact rotational position centered over the landing leg. Previously, I had to tap my free foot on the ice because my weight was not concentrated over the rotational axis.
Excited about the salchow, for a change, I sprinted through a few crossovers for another harness attempt. A nanosecond later, I found myself splayed on the ice looking up at Geoff in bewilderment. As usual, he was laughing.
“What was that?” he demanded. “I waited for you to do the three-turn but you never did; you just jumped.”
That explained why I did not feel the pull of the harness belt saving my landing. I had caught him off-guard. “Did I do an axel?”
“Yes, but we were working on the salchow. Don’t feel bad. Kids get in this thing and you never know what you are going to get, especially when they are trying more than one jump.”
“I thought you decided to prove to me that I could do the axel without a spotter.”
The coach smiled again. “You would have never gone for it like that if you thought you were working without a safety net.”
Geoff was right. My solo attempts are cautious and reserved. In the harness, I have no fear. I jump high enough to do a delayed axel or maybe a double. Unintentionally, my coach proved that I could attack a jump without breaking my neck, which must be a subconscious fear. After removing the belt, I made a deliberate effort to jump more aggressively and landed a decent axel.
This very productive lesson offered benefits beyond practicing old favorites. It curbed my paranoia. The next day, I skated more vigorously, springing from the ice for axels and double salchows. They still are not good, but they are better than they were last week.
Week of October 16, 2000
Spot on the Wall
(or The Secret of Double Salchows)
Since my double salchow breakthrough in last week’s lesson, I have practiced this jump with renewed interest. Although I do a good single salchow, the double has always eluded me. Geoff told me to spot a place on the wall while gliding backward, then again after stepping forward to initiate the right forward outside three-turn leading into my clockwise salchow. Before lifting into the jump, I should see my target spot a third time. Basically, he encouraged me to look in the direction I will jump before executing the salchow and to follow a straight path. Progress was immediate. I felt control over the preparation, entrance and the jump itself. Utilizing Geoff’s new spotting technique, I practiced this double during every session and finally landed one.
While in the air, I recognized the sensation of correct rotation about the imaginary axis running through my left side that would yield a one-footed landing. Missing the backspin position and revolving around a centralized axis necessitates a two-footed landing, usually with the legs separated. My left blade connected with the ice, unaided by the usually very helpful free foot. Surprised, I extended into a landing position. The tracing revealed a slight cheat on the landing where I cranked out the last few degrees of rotation. After literally years of struggle with two coaches and very limited success, I smiled at the mark on the ice.
“I’ll take it,” I admitted gratefully. It was not perfect, but it did not have to be. It represented significant progress, and I had something to build upon.
I completed several more double salchows, afraid to stop doing them lest I forget their secret. The landings varied from slightly under-rotated to a hopped save and a single loop combination that dissipated unchecked rotation. I actually look forward to working on the salchow again, a jump I used to dread because it made me face the very real possibility that I had plateaued, short of a double. Hopefully this was more than a fluke and I can do the jump again next week.
Week of October 23, 2000
Axel Paulsen and Friends
Named for its inventor, a Norwegian speed and figure skater who created the jump in the late 1800s, the
Everyone wants an axel, children and adults alike. Many youngsters land awkward axels but cannot skate gracefully around the rink. There seems to be a push among some coaches to give their students the axel before they truly deserve it. Since axels are the ultimate accomplishment for skaters of all levels, the skaters themselves may prod for axel training. Coaches might provide it to keep clients satisfied or to prevent fear later in the skater’s development. Pushing children into early axels can encourage continued interest and growth. However, I have seen adult skaters trying axels before they can skate at a good clip or land a secure loop jump. I fail to understand the logic behind this.
A friend of mine, who has been skating for less than two years, is learning to walk through the basic single jumps. She is gaining understanding of technique, but her jumps are in the very earliest developmental stage. The skater approaches with crawling velocity, jumps in a hunched position, and lands noisily on the flat of the blade at least a quarter turn short of rotation. Her arms and free leg flail throughout the exercise. She cannot spin and scratches her toe picks incessantly during sluggish backward crossovers. During every movement she executes, from basic forward stroking to jump walk-throughs, her arms wave for balance. This woman would probably not pass the USFSA Pre-Preliminary tests. In my opinion, as an adult who skated for years before ever trying an axel, she is not a candidate for an axel lesson. Yet, she glowed with excitement after her first attempts at the notorious jump in the harness.
Another woman, who skates slowly and mechanically, can perform all of the basic single jumps and completes a few decent rotations in an upright spin. This person also started to work on the axel. Based on the weakness of her jumps, I doubt that such a skater is confident or physically strong enough to try an axel. Introductory exercises may be a worthwhile addition to such a skater’s practice regime, but it seems unreasonable for someone who cannot command the ice with powerful strokes or a few good singles to expect to learn the axel.
Of course, I am not a skating coach. I have never faced the dilemma of telling a zealous but unprepared student that he is not ready for the axel. While I believe a physically fit adult can learn axels and double jumps, I question the wisdom of introducing anyone who can barely skate to the most difficult jump in the sport. Shouldn’t the student demonstrate some basic proficiency before launching into an axel, harnessed or otherwise? I do not advocate the tedium and frustration of absolutely mastering every skill before moving on, but for the sake of safety, shouldn’t the axel student at least know how to do backward crossovers? Shouldn’t he know how to spin and land a controlled, strong loop jump? Without fundamental skills, a skater cannot hope to succeed with a jump as challenging as the axel. Even with a thorough background, the axel can take months or years for a mature skater to learn and even longer to perfect.
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